It’s 9:00pm on a Tuesday night and Stephanie and I have just seen Skin on netflix party –– the documentary centering colorism and the stigmatization that comes with being a dark skinned woman in Nigeria; a subject matter we both closely relate to. Colorism, which is the prejudice of people within the same racial group on the basis that one skin shade is superior to the other, has gradually grown into an epidemic in Nigeria.
Although it is a global issue, it is particularly prevalent in Nigeria and the reality of it is that the lighter you are, the more superior you become. Being a dark skinned woman in Nigeria, ironivally the most populated black nation means that you have been bombarded and given unsolicited advice and opinions from family members, friends and strangers on what to do to your skin to make it more appealing. You have probably been referred to bodycreams that would lighten you up, or have been told that you would be prettier if you were lighter.
That being said, W.H.O reported that 77% of Nigerian women purchase and use bleaching and toning creams and products; they are sold in convenience stores, markets, pharmacies, even the common aboki/mallam kiosks.
In the trigger-filled documentary, Nigerian actress Beverly Naya journeys’ the city of Lagos interviewing and speaking with people who have been affected by colorism, have sold creams and just have one or two things to say surrounding the topic. It was interestingly procative and refreshing for Stephanie and I to watch and also recount our own personal experiences in the comments. In one scene, three women are questioned and one reveals that the only way she could stop bleaching is if her husband asks her to. Same goes for another woman in a different scene.
I’m glad that the conversation on the reality of the relationships between black men and women is frequent now because this also ties into it in several ways.
Steph: I sha always felt ugly, everyone called me sexy because of my body, they called me hot but not like pretty, beautiful, cute; never heard those to describe me. Even when i got to uni, the black boys i dated kinda acted like they were ashamed of me? The last black boy I dated in 2018 was chilling with me one day and said “wow you’re actually beautiful”, that made me happy but now that i realize it, that was so backhanded.
My experience was no different from Stephanie and many other Nigerian women; for as long as I could remember people commented on how dark my skin was with complexity in their faces; they looked at me like how I could possibly be okay with being this dark. It was not until secondary school that I decided to do something about it.
Thinking about it now, it makes sense because I was at the most vulnerable phase in my life, desperately seeking the attention of the boys-only school that was beside mine, a girls-only school. But I wasn’t only doing it for boys, the lighter girls got more compliments, they were offered more things, people would look at them longer than they would me and they were never told they would have been prettier if they were lighter.
I found comfort in bleaching; I discovered ‘caro white’ and funbact-A and I went crazy. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, the mix didn’t work like it did for most people, or maybe it did. It did the job on only some parts of my skin and so I was having multiple skin tones, you know how they say it…fanta face with a coke body.Someone had made a comment once about me not showering as much as i should which was why i was getting darker and so i started taking 2 hour long baths, scrubbing and scrubbing.
Neither of these worked and i stopped, I’m glad i did too but it’s interesting to see that the way this trauma works and how it is so normal that you don’t realize the lengths you’re going through to change yourself, you don’t realize how crazy what you’re doing is because you’re so focused on the results.
Still watching, we get super excited because our absolute fave, Bobrisky; Born Idris Okuneye comes on screen to share her experience. It was super interesting to hear the reasoning behind her bleaching and how it wasn’t so different from mine. Even more fascinating was how often she associated poverty with being darker skinned; there’s a thing about people relating lighter tones with wealth and prosperity which further translates to something that is worthy in a sense as opposed to darker tones which are usually threatening, suffering, angry.
“What really made me bleach was that I wasn’t getting the attention I needed” and “you see them as a threat” – Reference to lighter skinned women were two phrases I caught from Bob’s few minutes on screen; it’s real and it is relatable and it is called light skinned privilege.
Now here’s what we didn’t like about the film.
I believe all views are essential. It is important to know what people think, and why they think the way they do; but Eku Edewor served no substance to the film. A documentary which promises to shed understanding to the effects and history behind colorism in Nigeria did not need a light skinned, biracial woman working in the entertainment industry (one known to discriminate dark skinned women) to play victim and remind us of whatever counterfeit struggles she faces in the country; it simply does not exist. However, what would have been preferable would be her acknowledging the privilege she enjoys in the country.
Phyno, as I imagine, was supposed to give insight from a male perspective which he failed to do. It would have been interesting to hear what social dynamics are like as a light skinned man considering how people often see darker skinned men as stronger.
Third and lastly, it would have been refreshing for the documentary to have a more in-depth take on the problem beyond just bleaching. However, it was all in good faith and was an incredible watch.
Ada: How did you deal with your trauma?
Steph: I never dealt with it.